Diana Pharaoh Francis | Diana P. Francis | Diana Francis

Archive for 'new book'

Tuesday, March 1st, 2016
It’s a book birthday!

The Incubus Job is now available for download! I didn’t know I’d be this nervous. I’m literally in knots. I kind of feel the need to throw up. I don’t remember the last time I felt this nervous about a book release. I don’t even know quite why. Except this book means a lot to me and it’s my first indie publication. I swear, though, my head is going to pop off soon. *breathe, Di, breathe*

A lot of people ask how they can help an author, so I’m posting the following, which I stole from Seanan McGuire, who also has a book birthday today. It’s one of her Incryptid books, which are amazeballs good and if you haven’t read them, go do it. If only for the mice. So here’s the how to help an author recommendations:

DO buy the book as soon as you can. Sales during the first week are very important—think of it as “opening weekend” for a movie—but they’re not the end-all be-all. If you can get the book in the next few days, get the book. Remember, books make great gifts!

DO post reviews on your blog or on Amazon.com or Goodreads. Reviews are fantastic! Reviews make everything better! Please, write and post a review, even if it’s just “I liked it.” Honestly, even if it’s just “this wasn’t really my thing.” As long as you’re being fair and reasoned in your commentary, anything you say is perfect. (I like to believe you won’t all race right out to post one-star reviews, but if that’s what you really think, I promise that I won’t be mad.) Reviews help authors get better standing and advertising at the online stores and hopefully helps generate sales.

DO tell your friends if you happen to like the book. Word of mouth is so helpful. I mean, how many times have you picked up a book because a friend told you it was good?

That’s about all I have. I will now go back to pacing and chewing my nails.

 

Friday, January 8th, 2016
It’s Coming

March 1st. More info when I’ve got it.

The Incubus Job

It’s tough to have a conscience when you kill for a living.

So six years ago, Mallory Jade gave up killing. Now she’s a fixer. Got a problem with a demon? She can help. Infestation of pixies? She’s got you covered. Kidnapped by an undead lich? She’s on her way. Anything you need, so long as she doesn’t have to kill. It’s her one unbreakable rule.

Aside from a few near-death experiences, her new life is good, until her job dumps her in the lap of the man she walked out on six years before. Law Stanger, her former partner and lover, wants her back in his life. He’s not above playing dirty. But Mallory knows it can never work. She has secrets Law can never understand or forgive.

All Mallory wants now is to finish her job–track down an incubus and the precious box he stole–and get the hell out of town before Law shatters her heart again. But it wasn’t fate that drew her and Law together after all these years, it was cunning calculation. Now they must face an enemy more powerful than they can imagine, one that has no intention of leaving anybody alive.

Friday, September 25th, 2015
Title Announcement

The new title for the third Diamond City Book is . . . Are you ready?

Whisper of Shadows

The release will happen sometime in January, maybe February. More on that when things get definite.

Meanwhile, I’ve been working on a side project. I’ve been working on it for a long time in my “spare time.” I totally love it. I’m going to be self-publishing it. It’s called The Ghost Job and here’s a little bit (rough–not been revised yet) of the beginning:

 

I got the fish-eye stare from the concierge when I walked past him into the lobby. I passed through the security net, feeling it ripple across my skin like seeking fingers. My lips tightened smugly. I could go out and come back again and totally change my aural signature. It might remember this version of me forever—and it probably would—but it wouldn’t do it a damned bit of good if it never saw this me again.

Effrayant was a mashup of the Bellagio and the Bates Motel, with a little dash of old school English castle for flair. The outside was brick and tile with a few thousand windows and a mansard roof that went up six or eight stories on top. The rooms up there were probably long-term residences. The central tower was a good forty stories high, with the four wings sprouting like spokes from its shoulders. Their rooftops boasted pools, clubs, restaurants, and helipads.

I wasn’t there for the entertainment; I was on a job.

Inside was dark wood, modern furniture, soft lights, and museum quality art. Muted opera music wandered through the cavernous lobby. The staff all wore Italian wool uniforms in gray, burgundy, and navy, while customers dressed in designer glitz and blue-collar chic.

I couldn’t blame the bellman for looking at me sideways. Wearing Levi’s, a longsleeved cotton shirt from the Goodwill, a pair of knee-high leather boots that had seen better days, and a blue ball-cap, I definitely didn’t look glitzy or chic.

Add in the fact that my luggage was nothing more than a ratty backpack, I was a little surprised that the security guards inside didn’t stop me. With force. Given how obcenely expensive it was to stay at the exclusive and highly discriminating Effrayant, I figured these guys should have been all over me. Sure, the ghosts make people want to turn and head the other way and let me be someone else’s problem. Security guards ought to be better trained. They shouldn’t let the heebie-jeebies get the better of them. I get that it’s not every day that you get the ghost push-off from someone made of flesh and blood, but Effrayant liked to brag their security was the best of the best.

I walked in and all six of thick-necked best of the best got busy picking lint off their coats, making me the check-in clerk’s problem.

Poor thing. I could tell she wanted to be anywhere else. That’s Tabitha’s fault. She can put the fear of Jesus into just about anyone without hardly trying.

Tonight she was trying.

She didn’t want to come into Effrayant. She thought it was too dangerous. She was right, but that didn’t change the job. I wanted to tell her to suck it up and settle down, but she was only a thirteen year old girl and dead or not, her hormones were raging. She wasn’t going to listen to me, of all people. Plus she still had a lot of PTSD issues from how she got killed. Or so I assumed. I had no idea how it had actually gone down. I only knew she was pissed as hell and she had nightmares that occasionally leaked into my dreams. If any of what happened in those nightmares had actually happened to her, she had a right to her attitude. Hell, she had a right to have gone right over the edge into insanity-land. I didn’t think she had, but it’s not like she talked to me. Another issue she had going on was that she didn’t trust anybody and when she got scared, she killed first and asked questions later.